Murder's Sad Tale Read Free Page B

I don’t really know. We were going to make our wills in each other’s favor when we married, but — I really have no idea. We didn’t usually discuss such practical things.”
    “Would you happen to know who his man of business was?”
    “James handled his own affairs. He was very good at business.”
    “What did he do when he wasn’t with you? What were his particular interests?” Corinne asked.
    She frowned with the pain of her memories. “Oh, business things,” she said vaguely. “Visited his clubs, perhaps. Gentlemen do that.”
    “What clubs would that be?” Coffen asked.
    “Oh dear, I’m such a goose I never asked him.”
    Neither White’s, Brooke’s, Boodle’s or Wattier’s elicited any sign of recognition. The callers exchanged a frustrated glance.
    “Who is your own heir at present?” Coffen asked.
    “The Church of England, since I have no close relatives I admire. My one aunt, Mrs. Birrell, refused to come to London with me, though I offered to pay everything.”
    “Why did you decide to leave Manchester?” Corinne asked.
    “Manchester, though it is a good, plain sort of place, is a cultural oasis,” she announced. “My soul craved the finer things in life. And of course once Papa died and I became my own mistress, there was nothing to keep me there.”
    “Well, what did you think?” Corinne asked, as they drove home.
    “A looker. For her age, I mean.”
    Corinne rolled her eyes in exasperation but didn’t point out the woman was nearly old enough to be his mother, and fat as a flawn besides. She was also enjoying her role of grieving fiancée, even without the proper mourning clothes. Still, that didn’t mean she was completely insincere in her grief. It wouldn’t be easy finding a husband at her age.
    “Why did you ask about her heir?” Corinne said.
    “I thought p’raps her heir might have done in Russell to keep the blunt in the family, but I daresay we can absolve the C of E. Who might be able to tell us something about Russell is Prance,” he continued. “Mean to say — art, music, drama — right up his alley.”
    “We’ll ask him if he knew Russell. It’s odd Miss Fenwick knows so little about him. Just that he came from Keswick and inherited money from an uncle. He must have been about her age — what did he do all those years since he left Keswick? Interesting that they were both freeing up cash for the house. Money is a strong motive for murder. And they were going to change their wills too.”
    “Hadn’t done it yet,” he pointed out. “That certainly wants looking into though. Stands to reason he left his blunt to someone. Thing to do, search his house. It’s on Baker Street. See if we can find out about his business dealings, have a look for his will. I shouldn’t think he would have changed his will to leave it to Miss Fenwick till they were married. If his heir got wind of the romance, he might of feared losing his inheritance — if he had an heir, I mean. A special friend, it would be, since he had no family. I’ll drop around again, p’raps tomorrow, after we’ve thought of what else we should have asked her. There’s time to look over his flat before lunch.”
    “Let us get it over with. I don’t want to have to go out this afternoon.”
    Coffen pulled the drawstring and hollered the new destination up to the coachman.
     

Chapter Three
     
    They hadn’t far to go. The route was so direct even Fitz, Coffen’s incapable coachman, could have managed it. North Audley Street ran in a straight line, changing its name to Baker as it crossed Oxford Street. They continued north nearly to Marylebone Road. Baker Street was a broad thoroughfare lined with newish houses, mostly built at the turn of the last century. Mrs. Siddons, among other celebrities, lived there.
    “Seems Russell was well to grass all right,” Coffen said, as the carriage pulled up in front of a dignified brick building larger than its neighbors.
    “This is a block of flats,